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Daily Archives: March 9, 2018

It has been brought to my attention that some people are receiving e-mails from somebody named Judy Jance. These e-mails contain nothing but a link. This is called phishing—somebody who isn’t me pretending to be me. I am a writer. That means, if I send out an e-mail, a real e-mail, it’s going to have … well … writing in it, not just a link. And by the way, I never sign e-mails Judy Jance. I sign them JAJance or Mom or G. If you receive an e-mail that says it’s from me or from anybody else for that matter that contains nothing but a link, here’s a helpful hint: DO NOT CLICK. HIT DELETE.

And now, just to prove that this is me, here are a few more words. Ali Reynolds #13, Duel to the Death, is coming out next week. The tour schedule is up on the website. You’ll see it’s mostly a driving tour starting in Arizona and then traveling up the West Coast with an event in Bay City, Michigan, tacked on to the end of the schedule for good measure.

Somewhere along the way, someone is going to ask me the big question, as in “How many books have you actually written?” So let’s do the math together: Beaumonts: 23; Bradys: 17; Ali Reynolds: 13. Walkers: 5; Poetry: 1) According to my limited Arithmetic skills, and not counting the novellas, that totals out as 59. But then there are the three shared books, ones which include more than one character. Those end up being counted on more than one list. If we subtract those from the total, that means DTTD is actually J.A. Jance book number 56. That’s a lot of books! Whoopie!

From the beginning, whenever I’ve signed books, my customary practice has been to indicate where that book falls in that particular series. It might be easier to switch over to using the TOTAL number, but since it’s not easy to teach an old dog new tricks, I probably won’t do that. At this point I’m pretty sure Duel to the Death will be signed “Ali # 13.”

By the way, speaking of dogs. Earlier this week, someone sent a note suggesting that I say something cute about dogs on my facebook page. The problem is, I’m having a hard time feeling dog cuteness right about now. What do you do about a recently arrived five year-old dog who has decided, all on her own, that she really doesn’t much care for the idea of being housebroken? Especially with doggy door access right there in the room? For the time being, I’m papering the bedroom floor with puppy pads every night before I go to bed and hoping for the best.

Okay, that probably qualifies as TMI—too much information—so back to the new book issues at hand. This is the call out for bookmark SASEs. If you want a whole autographed book mark instead of one cut in half, the SASE has to be a regular #10, business sized envelope. Some people have sent me SASEs that are actually repurposed Christmas card envelopes. Those don’t work for me because they aren’t long enough. Please send the SASEs to me at:

P.O. Box 766
Bellevue, WA 98009

The book mark requests will arrive while I’m on tour, and I won’t be signing and sending them out until after I get back home. If you happen to live outside the US and can’t lay hands on US postage, send an SAE—a self-addressed envelope minus the stamp—and we’ll all continue to be grateful to the fan who sent me a generous supply of forever international stamps.

So see you on the road. No, the dogs will not be traveling with us. They’ll be taking a much more direct route home and taking the puppy pads with them..

Earlier this week, someone wrote to me asking how old I was since he found information on the internet saying I was born in 1999. No, not even close. That eighteen year-old is probably the same Judy Jance sending out the phony link e-mail mentioned above. I am definitely a woman of a certain age. If you look at the schedule, you’ll see that my husband and I, both in our seventies, will be working—traveling and signing—every day for the next month or so with no time off for good behavior. When you see us on the road, please refrain from telling us how tired we look. I know you’ll think you’re only expressing concern, but on this end of that remark, we’ll feel like somebody has just told us we look like hell.